Other Planes
by ScienceGeek
Summary: Grissom, Sara, and Nick investigate a Convention regarding the Paranormal in order to solve a murder. Grissom learns a thing or two about Sara, and himself in the process.
1. Unconventional Conventions

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A/N: My second fan-fic. This one stems from a challenge at UTB. The elements required are:

Takes place at a 'Paranormal Convention'?  
  
Nicky has to be in it.  
  
Somebody has to admit that he or she has been to at least one Convention before.  
  
Somebody has to have headache and have that cured by a 'healer'.   
  
Somebody has to say: "I've never seen an aura like yours. "  
  
Somebody has to say: I think we've met before in a previous life.   
  
Some palm or hand-reading, maybe?  
  
And of course GSR!!

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Spoilers: Up to Getting Off

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Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. I just took them out to play for a moment. 

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Rating: PG-13 at most.

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"The What-Con?"

"Altalities Con." Grissom shrugged as he glanced at Sara. "It's the last place our vic was known to be. While he was alive, at any rate."

"Grissom…" Sara looked dubiously up at her boss from her seat at the break room table. "This isn't like that convention you and Cath investigated a couple of months ago, is it?" 

"I doubt very much we'll be meeting Sexy Kitty at Altalities-Con." His mouth quirked in a half-grin, "Round up Nick, will you? And meet me at the car." 

No grown men and women dressed as stuffed animals…While that was a relief, Sara wasn't sure it reassured her much. God only knew what else might be the theme of this convention-this being Vegas and Grissom being rather closed-mouthed about it. Then again, when wasn't he closed-mouthed these days? Standing the brunette handed the slip back to Grissom, "Fine. But I'm driving." 

The convention center at the Luxor was heady with people as the three CSIs stepped out of the early morning heat. The Conventioneers seemed almost normal, compared to what each had privately imagined. While there were a few costumed people wandering about, most were attired in every-day casual clothing. Near the entrance a large man dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans stood at a booth, calling out to passers-by about guided tours to Area 51. 

"Which is ridiculous," Grissom muttered. 

"Right." Nick looked sidelong at the black-clad man. "A bunch of hooey, all that. There is no Area 51." 

His supervisor, eyes trained on the female investigator, didn't glance his way as he answered, "No Nick. Because that area is still under the control of the United States military, a guided tour would be trespassing. In the eyes of the military, that is tantamount to treason." He paused, ignoring Nick's open-mouthed stare. Was Sara smiling? How long had it been since he saw that? "See something interesting? Sara?" 

The young woman had been reading the board announcing the day's speakers when he called her name. "Hmmm?" Shaking her head then, she turned to the men with a wide grin. "Altalities-Con. Alternative Realities Convention. Why didn't you say so, Grissom?" 

"I thought I had." He shrugged, that small half-smile once again fleeting across his face in response to her eye-roll and grin. "Come on, we've got a crime scene to process." 

Nick jogged to catch up with the others, "Alternative Realities? A convention on dreams?" 

"More than that Nick. The convention covers all areas of the paranormal." Sara nodded to a placard in front of one of the meeting rooms. "Not just dream interpretation."

The Texan's eyes followed hers, "Ancient Astronauts and the Sumerian Culture? Come on Sar, you don't really believe…"

The dark haired woman interrupted her colleague with a grin, "Well Nicky, it's not the same as believing…say a Fire and Rescue chopper dumped a scuba diver up a tree, but…" 

Grissom hid a grin as he watched the interplay between his two youngest CSIs. Privately, he gave the last point to Sara as he watched the blush creep up Nick's face. A few years before, Catherine had let slip Nick's urban legends inspired theory regarding the scuba diver-up-a-tree. He admired Sara's forbearance in keeping it to herself for so long. With Sara's attention on Nick Grissom could watch her openly, for a moment. It wasn't just the memory of Nick's long-ago case her teasing had brought up…he remembered their own case from that time just as vividly. 

'_Chalk…_'

"Nick." Grissom interrupted before the young man could begin to speak. "We're here to investigate a murder. Not pass judgment on these people's beliefs." He turned to fix the younger CSI with a stern glare. "Talk to the convention staff. See if you can find out which of the programs Clarence Simons signed up for, and which he attended. Sara, you and I will check out the vendors."

TBC


	2. Amulets and Interest

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A/N See first chapter for disclaimers and other information

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Chapter 2

They stood in the crowded vendor's room, a handful of credit card receipts between them. On every side of the pair of investigators, booths selling odd paraphernalia or esoteric services surrounded them. Swarming the stalls were convention goers-from the relatively mundane, a woman in a dragon t-shirt, to the more bizarre, a pair of men dressed as the stereotypical bug eyed aliens. "Our killer didn't seem to want to cover his or her tracks very well." Sara glanced down at the first credit slip, for a booth called 'Ancient Treasures'. "Unless of course, the killer has nothing to do with the Convention, and we're on a wild Phoenix chase." 

At her mythological reference, Grissom grinned again, this time not shielding the visage from Sara's eyes. She could only stare for a moment. Gil Grissom? Enjoying himself? With her? When was the last time that happened? Blinking for just a moment, she handed her boss half the slips. Neither her voice nor face betrayed any of the flash of hope his simple grin had elicited. "I suppose we should split up, check these out…" 

"No need Sara, there aren't that many." A brow lifted as she simply stared at him. "Unless of course, you'd rather…" 

Shrugging, Sara took the papers back from him. "No. Either way is fine with me. There's the first one. Ancient Treasures. The receipt just says jewelry." She walked away before Grissom could respond, leaving him frowning after her for a moment before hurrying to catch up. By the time he did, she had already introduced herself to the booth's proprietor, a thin, graying woman in a jeans and a peasant blouse. 

"I don't know if I should give out information on what Mr.…Simons purchased." 

"Please," Sara flashed a warm smile at the woman, "Mr. Simons isn't in a position to object. And any information you could give us might help us find out what happened to him." 

"I really don't remember him." She had glanced at the morgue photo for only a moment, before turning away in distaste. "But I'll look up his purchase. If you'll wait a moment?" 

Sara nodded and dropped her eyes to a tray of pendants lining the counter. "That one is interesting." She started at the sound of Grissom's voice, very near her shoulder. Her head turned, and she peered at him through a screen of dark hair. 

"Which one?" She managed to speak without emotion as her eyes followed his pointing finger, even as she took a half step away from him. As her gaze dropped to the ornament, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Griss? A closet fan the WB?"

It took him a moment to answer, his eyes resting in the void where she had been standing so close to him just a moment before. "I…ah…" Finally, he looked up at her dancing expression. "The what?" 

"The WB show? Charmed? That's a Triquetra. It's the symbol of the show. Not," she hurried to assure him, "That I watch it."

"Of course not Sara." He lifted a brow then glanced down at the bronze pendant, "So? The Triquetra?" 

"Oh." She shrugged, "A symbol of trinities. In Witchcraft, Wicca, it symbolizes the three phases of women. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. The circle, here," she pointed to the outer ring, "Symbolizes the unity of whatever trinity is signified by the outer points of the ovals." She reached out to touch them gently, "Of course, any three-fold system can be represented by the triquetra: life, death, and rebirth, the Hindu trinity, the Christian trinity, yin, Tao, and yang. That's why it's surprising it took such a silly show to make it popular."

Grissom's brow lifted again and Sara dropped her eyes almost shyly. "What? I read a lot." 

She was saved from any response when the proprietor returned. "Here we are. Took me a moment to organize my files. Mr. Simons bought an Ankh. Silver. A lovely piece." She laid a silver medallion that looked like a cross with a loop top on the counter. "Lovely, but not very special I'm afraid. Mass-produced. If that's all? I do have customers…" 

Sara glanced at Grissom, who nodded. "Yes. Thank you for your help." She looked up at the man, who was watching her expectantly. "What?" 

"Your thoughts on the Ankh please, Miss Sidle?" 

"Theorizing ahead of the evidence, Griss?"

He smiled, "No, just trying to understand the evidence a little better." 

This time it was Sara who frowned. She could understand him not recognizing a triquetra. But an ankh? He was more widely read than she, and Egyptian culture was much more mainstream than Celtic. "Ah. Uh…the Ankh symbolizes life in ancient Egypt. It was associated with things like water, air, and the sun…all elements that sustained life. It's considered very powerful by some. Protective." No way she was getting into the female/male symbolism involved. 

Grissom nodded, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Sara?" He paused until she looked up from the credit card slips. "How many of these Conventions have you been to?" 

"What? None! I told you, I read a lot!" 

He just watched her for a moment, his brow slowly raising again, the smile curving about his lips. 

"All right, all right. One or two. With my parents." Sara glared at him, "When I was younger. And if this gets around the lab…" 

"Relax Sara; your secret is safe with me." His smile faded a bit as the frown remained on her face. "So? What's next?"

TBC


	3. Harried and Headachy

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A/N: See disclaimers in first chapter. 

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Nick sighed as he walked up to the Ballroom level. He had already spent 40 minutes in the security office, while the harried volunteers found someone with the power to authorize releasing Clarence Simmons' registration information. Nick had waited; reasoning that finding someone who actually worked for the Con who could help him would take less time than securing a warrant. He questioned his decision though, as someone on staff who could sanction the release of the records was _finally_ located. Even with the readily granted permission, they couldn't simply provide him the information, sending him instead to another area of the Convention grounds. He was frowning as he made his way into the registration area where that information was stored. A warrant would definitely have been faster. 

His hand moved to his forehead as he spotted the throng of people waiting in the huge ballroom, milling in groups near each registration station, or waiting in what seemed to be an endlessly turning queue. He scanned the signs above each table, heading to the one marked 'Badges'. "Excuse me," He shouldered his way through the crowd waiting around near the station. "I'm Nick Stokes with…" 

"We'll call your name when your badge is ready sir."

"With the Crime Lab," he went on, "I need to speak with someone about the registration of one of your attendees." 

"Oh." The young woman looked up, eyes on the badge he was already holding out. "Police? What did you need? Registration? You'll need to fill out a form and wait in…"

"No," Nick interrupted, "I don't want to register. I want to find out about the registration of someone else. Official investigation."

"Oh. I can't help you. I just have badges." She held up a handful of two-day passes. You need one of the Payment booths. They've got the computer information. The line," she pointed to the beginning of the queue, "Starts there." 

Another sigh escaped him as he eyed the rows of people, unconsciously massaging his head again. Steeling his shoulders, he walked past the line, ignoring the grumbles and protests of the folks standing there. He frowned as a rather uncomplimentary shout regarding his manhood reached his ears. He would have thought these paranormal type people would be more into peace, love, and all that new age stuff. 

"Excuse me," his voice was harsher than he had intended as he stepped in front of a young woman in a long lavender skirt, "Crime Lab, Official Business." He held up his ID to the harried man behind the counter, "I need the registration information on Clarence Simons. He came in on Thursday. I need to know which programs he's registered for, and which he attended. And I'll need to contact the, ah…speakers, at each program." He paused, "Got permission from your boss already…" He glanced at the man's name tag. "Buddy…" Jeez…who really went by that name? "So why don't you get me that information quickly now."

"Ah…Crime Lab?" The middle-aged man stared at Nick with wide eyes. "Has Mr.…ah….what did you say his name was again? Has he done something?" 

"Simons. And yes, he died." Nick sighed, pressing his hands against his temples. He flashed an apologetic smile to the young woman whose spot in line he had taken. "Shouldn't take too long, M'am."

"Headache." she returned, mildly, her own smile flashing quickly. 

"Excuse me?" 

"You have a headache. I can help you with that." She smiled again, her eyes wide, "I'm a Healer." 

"Ah. No. No thank you, M'am. That won't be necessary." He shrugged, letting his hands fall to his sides, "It's nothing. And I really do need to be working just now." His gaze returned to Buddy as the man thrust a computer printout into his hands. "All the programs Mr. Simons was signed up for. But…we're pretty loose around here; he could have changed his mind and done something else. I…I also gave you a list of the hotel room numbers of all our Guest Speakers. That's ah…very confidential and…" 

"Don't worry about it Buddy," now Nick was smiling, "I'll keep it safe. Thank you." As he turned around the young woman thrust a business card into his hands. "If you change your mind, I really _can_ take care of that headache."


	4. Of Protection and Charms

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A/N: Please see disclaimers in first chapter. I'll be gone for most of the weekend at a family function. I'll try to update again on Sunday

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"Jacob Summers." 

Glancing over his glasses at Sara, "And he is?" 

"No idea." She glanced back down at the credit card receipt, "This just has his name, no shop name, no booth. Nothing." She looked up with a little grin, "I guess we're going to have to investigate." 

"How glad am I, then, that I'm with such a good investigator?" He flashed a quick, satisfied smile, and without waiting for her response, he moved to the nearest booth. Sara stared after him a moment, not bothering to hide her surprise from his retreating back. After a moment she trailed after him, stepping past him to the next booth. 

Finding out about Jacob Summers proved to require far fewer of their investigative skills than they had thought. Every other person they asked knew the man, at least by reputation. Finding him was much more difficult. 

"Did," Grissom glanced at the name on the booth, "Ms. Woods have any idea where our elusive psychic might be?"

"When."

"When?"

"When he might be." She glanced up with a grin, "Two hours from now. He mentioned taking in a lecture." She glanced down at her notes, "Time, Space, and Thought... Journeys In Metaphysics." She shrugged, "Sounds interesting, actually." 

"Mmmhmm, too bad we're on a case." 

"Well," Sara paused for a moment, then laughed. "We'll just have to solve it in the next two hours, so we can take in that lecture then." 

If only. Grissom gave a quick smile. "As interesting as that…lecture…sounds, I doubt even we can solve this in two hours. We have other vendors to question?" 

Her eye quirked at the pause before the word lecture. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Two. 'Wiccan Ways' and 'Atlantis'. They should be in here somewhere." She looked around at the booths, stuck haphazardly here and there, with no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement. "Frustratingly unorganized."

Still bearing the half smile that had jumped to his lips when Sara laughed, he let his eyes follow hers. "You would have planned it differently?" 

"Sure," stuffing her hands in her pockets she began to walk to the end of the row, "Services, like our missing Mr. Summers or Tarot readings, in one area, clothing in another, charms somewhere else, some plan with some semblance of order, so the visitors don't have to wander aimlessly until they find whatever they're looking for." 

"Sometimes, the wandering is the best part." 

At the quirk of her eyebrow Grissom continued, "For the vendors, at any rate. The harder it is for the customer to find what they need, the more time the vendors get to lure them in to something they might not need at all." 

"Or," Sara continued softly after a moment, "Something they didn't even know they needed until they found it." Another shrug, "I suppose that way does have its benefits." The whispery quality left her voice as her eyes fell on a booth decorated with silk draperies. And there it is: Wiccan Ways." 

"Ah…" Grissom cleared his throat, "Right. Wiccan Ways. After you." 

Gracie Everheart was more than a little reluctant to cooperate with the pair of CSIs, and nothing about their badges or official introductions did anything to warm her to them. Sara's plea regarding justice for the victim met only with a shrug. 

"Look," she sighed, running a frustrated hand through her hair, "If you don't cooperate we'll get a warrant, and about half a dozen cops here milling about this stand for the rest of the weekend. And," she went on, voice lifting, "Back at your real store too, until we solve this case. Do you know how long it takes to solve murders, sometimes? Years. How many of your customers are going to want to shop with uniforms milling about." 

"You can't do that!" 

"Watch me." 

Gracie's eyes went to Grissom who just shrugged, his face blank. The proprietor's sputtering did nothing to bring about any expression from the man. His eyes flicked to Sara for a moment, standing with her arms crossed and brown eyes narrowed sharply at Gracie. The angry woman turned back to Grissom stammering. "She can't do that! Can she do that?" 

Grissom shrugged again, "Watch her." 

"Fine." Gracie turned sharply and tossed a leather bound ledger on the counter. "It's in there." 

"Thank you," Sara took the ledger, flipping through the pages searching for Simons' name. "Was he alone, when he bought the….ah….Golden Bough?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you speak with him?" 

"No. He knew exactly what he wanted, he wasn't here five minutes." 

"How did he seem?" 

"Excuse me?"

"How did he seem? Calm? Agitated? Happy?" Sara looked up from the book then, meeting the other woman's eyes. "Come on. You see people every day; you have to read them well to do such good business. So. How did Mr. Simons seem?" 

Grissom hid a smile as he watched Sara deal with the reluctant witness. Her change in tone from hostile to complimentary seeming to open the woman's closed lips a bit. As Gracie puffed up, answering in full, he ducked his head to hide the flash of pride on his face. 

When Gracie finally turned away, Grissom turned back to Sara, his mask of self-possession back on his face. "Golden Bough?"

Sara nodded, "And a silk bag, and silver bell." She glanced at Gracie's back, "He was afraid of something Grissom."

His brow furrowed, "How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Golden Bough, it's mistletoe. Mistletoe in a hand sewn bag is a charm of protection." Off his look she shrugged, "A friend of my mother gave me one once. And silver bells are thought to be protective as well. Evil spirits can't stand the ringing." Her lips lifted in a half-grin, "That one I read. Add to that his agitation, and the Ankh he bought. I'd say he was afraid of something." 

Grissom grinned, "Very good Sara. Now we just need to find out what." 


	5. Close Encounters of the Disturbing Kind

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A/N Apologies for the short chapter. I wanted to get something up before the end of the weekend. There will be more Nick and Vega later. 

Chapter 5

Detective Vega stood serenely at the bank of elevators. Perhaps that was because he had just been summoned to the hotel, to assist the CSI in questioning the lecturers whose talks Simons had attended. Nick wasn't nearly as cool, his head still pounded as he stepped into the over-crowded elevator, narrowly avoiding stepping on the shoe of a man dressed in tweed, while simultaneously trying to avoid pressing into the ample bosom of the woman just behind him. If Mr. Cristanson's room hadn't been on the 24th floor, he would have suggested taking the stairs. A 20 minute wait for an elevator at the Luxor? And it had only been _just _twenty minutes because he got pushy at the end, and crowded in front of Conventioneers. Vega grinned as they stepped into the small conveyance. As Nick felt the woman behind him slowly move forward, he fervently wished he had taken the stairs. Twenty-four flights or no. 

Room 2403 was halfway down the left hallway, just past the vending machines. From the looks of things, Nick had narrowly missed Housekeeping; the cart was parked outside 2401. God, he hoped that didn't mean Cristanson wasn't in his room, Nick didn't want to face the mad elevator rush again right away, even if the whole episode had put a smirk on Vega's face…or especially since it had put one there. 

"Maxwell Cristanson," Nick read from the list supplied by the convention, "The lecture our Vic attended was entitled "The Alien Abduction of Human Beings." Nick couldn't help the snort as he tucked the paper back away in his jacket. 

"Not a believer, Nick?"

The CSI just stared. First Grissom, then Sara, and now Vega? "Are you?"

Detective Vega stared seriously at the younger man for a moment, before grinning. "Nah. Not in Alien abductions, any way. Too strange. And implausible. Folks are just a bit off, or selling books. Or something." His grin widened, "Now, if you ask me about Bigfoot." 

"I'm not!" Nick shook his head as he knocked on room 2403. "I'm not. I definitely don't want to know." 

"I told you I don't want the room…." Christanson paused, "You're not the maid." 

Very good, thought Nick. He must be psychic. Shaking his head, he reached for the ID on the chain around his neck, and held it out for the man to see. "No," he said, dryly. "We're not. I'm Nick Stokes, with the Crime Lab, this is Detective Vega. May we ask you a few questions?" 

"Crime Lab?" Maxwell Christanson blinked as he looked from Nick to the cop. "They have a lab for Crimes?" 

Ignoring Vega's snicker, Nick sighed, then explained. Maybe this guy had been living on Mars. "I'm a Criminalist. Forensic Scientist. I investigate crimes. 

"I thought the police did that." 

"I'm with the police, Sir." Vega certainly wasn't being much help. Nick shot him an irritated glance, then turned back to the Lecturer. "May we ask you some questions about a man who attended your speech on," he cleared his throat, "Alien abductions?"

Christanson shrugged and opened the door to a room that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in months, instead of just days. Nick didn't even want to guess what was causing the odor. Could pizza smell that bad after just two days? "Sure. I suppose." 

Nick wrinkled his nose as he followed Vega into the room. 


	6. Hands

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A/N Sorry for the length of time between updates. Been working a lot this past week. I'm not an expert, by any means, in palmistry; all information contained herein is supplied by the internet. Disclaimers are still in the first chapter. Reviews very much appreciated. 

Chapter 6

Grissom and Sara moved as quickly as they could from the Wiccan Ways booth, each acutely aware of the piercing stare of Gracie Everheart as they walked away. Grissom glanced at Sara, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If looks could kill?" 

Sara returned his grin, "We'd have been on Doc Robbins' table by mid afternoon." She glanced back, met Gracie's stare for a moment, and then turned back to Gil. "Interesting woman. Our Vic was still alive when he left her, by the time-stamps on his credit card receipts. You know, I'm still wondering why the killer left them on him." 

Grissom's shoulder lifted in a shrug, "I guess we'll just have to ask him…or her…when we find them. We still have an hour till the lecture. What's left?" 

"Atlantis." Sara turned around slowly, pausing as she faced a line of closely spaced booths. "I think I saw it before we came down this row," She glanced at him over her shoulder then took off in the direction she had indicated. Grissom let a full grin spread across his face as he jogged a few steps, chasing after Sara. He slowed his stride to match hers as he caught up, slipping one hand to the small of her back as they moved among the throng of people. 

Sara pretended not to notice. 

"Let's talk this through, so far. We know Mr. Simmons had reservations at this Con for months. He has an apartment off Stewart Avenue, where he was dumped, but not killed. No line on where he might have worked." 

Grissom nodded, "But according to his neighbors, he did work. But they just don't' know where. Not in the casinos, no gaming card. Nothing Brass has been able to trace. Possibly paid in cash."

"Which he had no trouble spending, here." She glanced down at the receipts. "Quite pricey. Even that mass produced Ankh." She glanced around, then sighed. "We don't even have two thirds of your trinity. Victim. But no motive or crime scene."

"None of the neighbors noticed a body being moved into Mr. Simons' apartment." 

"Middle of the day, most people are at work. Besides, his apartment was around back. Parking at the door." Sara gave a small shrug, "Easy enough for someone to throw his arm around your shoulder and drag you in, as if he's helping a drunken friend home. The concrete at the door isn't the best place to find drag marks."

"Your theory," Grissom paused, glancing at Sara, "That he was afraid of someone…"

"Or something…" 

Blue eyes settled on brown, noting the glint that had been so long missing from them. "Something?" 

"Well, we are at an Alternative Realities Convention." Sara laughed then, quickly and softly. "Sorry. Go on." 

"Right. Someone," he emphasized the last syllable, "Though his neighbors deny any changes in his routine over the last few weeks. Said he seemed as pleasant as always. If he was afraid of someone, it might have been a recent development."

"Recent, as in the last two days, since the Con opened?" Off his nod, Sara glanced around the room, "Where does that leave us?" 

"Right back to looking for that Atlantis booth."

"Which should be down this way, someplace." She led him down a side aisle, acutely aware of his hand still on her back. From time to time, she would catch him looking at her from her peripheral vision. She forced her eyes to scan the booths, and nothing else. "Wait." She stopped, turning around abruptly, causing Grissom's hand to slip around her waist to her stomach. He left it there for a moment, before letting his arm drop back to his side. 

"There it is. The curtains are drawn around it. When we passed it before, they were open." 

"You're sure this is it?" 

Just as Sara was nodding the curtains opened, and a young woman stepped out, grinning broadly at the man behind her. Grissom and Sara lifted matching brows as the woman thanked the man profusely, before turning and rushing off into the crowd. The man then turned his attention to the CSIs. "Ah! Welcome, welcome to Atlantis. You'll want me to check your love lines? You're in luck. I'm running a two for one special for the Convention." 

Sara glanced at Grissom who gave her an amused, lopsided grin. Shaking her head, she turned back to the booth's proprietor. "Excuse me?" 

He gestured to their hands, "Your love lines. You're curious how long your relationship will last. Don't be embarrassed, all new Lovers have the same question. Come in, let Paulo answer it for you." 

"Ah. N…no." Sara turned, again, to Grissom. He looked from the Palmist to Sara, one brow quirked in amusement. But he remained silent. Sighing, she turned back to the booth. "No. We're not here to have our palms read. I'm Sara Sidle, this is Gil Grissom. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're investigating a murder. We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. ah, Paulo."

The man's expression didn't alter, "Just Paulo, please. Come in, come in. I'm anxious to help in any way I can. I'll even give you a reading, on the house." 

Sara turned to glare at the still silent Grissom, her lip twitching at the expression on his face. As a smile flitted across her face, he returned the action, one eye dropping in a half-wink. Gesturing to the curtained doorway with a slight bow, he waved her through. "Shall we?"

The inside of the booth was little more than three soft armchairs, vaguely Victorian in style, with brocade upholstery. They were set in a triangular grouping with one small table next to the biggest chair. Suspended from cables overhead was a tiffany type lamp, the only illumination within the purple draperies that were hanging on all sides. The table held a lock-box, and a card reader, both items incongruous in an otherwise ornate and old-fashioned setting. 

"Sit, sit." Paulo gestured to the chairs, taking his own place in the biggest. He waited for the investigators to settle then reached for Sara's hand. He blinked as she snatched it back, turning to Grissom in time to see him stiffen beside the brunette "But your reading?"

"Ah," blushing Sara reached into the file on her lap, handing Paulo a picture of Clarence Simons instead. "Ah. No, thank you. We really just need to know if you remember this man." 

"But, it's on the house." Paolo stared from Sara to Grissom before reluctantly taking the photo. "Ah. Yes, I remember him. Came in late on Thursday." He looked up with a sudden grin, "I'll tell you what. I'll answer your questions, if you let me give you a reading. You intrigue me." His eyes danced as he smiled at Sara. 

It was Grissom who answered. "This is a murder investigation Paulo. Mr. Simmons is dead. Now, you can answer us here, or we can call the detectives, and you can answer us downtown." 

"Ah, but Mr. Grissom, that will take much longer than a simple reading, won't it?" 

Grissom opened his mouth to retort, but Sara cut him off. "It's all right Griss. I'll just let him look at my hand…." She held it out to Paulo, "All right then, go ahead." 

"Sara…" 

"This will be quicker than getting Brass to take him downtown. And we still have to meet with Mr. Summers." 

Paulo beamed at the pair. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Grissom. I'll show you how to do it." He took Sara's hand in his, "Let me have your hands." He watched Grissom calmly until he held out both his hands, palm up. "Very good." He placed Sara's hand gently on top of Gil's. He smoothed Sara's hand gently, against it's sudden tension. "Relax Miss Sidle." He glanced up at the pair of CSIs, who were looking anywhere but at one another. "Now then, Mr. Grissom, do you see this line?" He pointed to curved line, running near Sara's thumb. "It's the life-line. Most people think that line indicates how long you'll live. It's really more about quality of life. Hmm. Very interesting." 

It was Grissom who answered, "How…how so?" 

"Ah. Well, Miss Sidle's lifeline has an unusual curve, indicating that she took a less-traveled path." He looked up, meeting first Sara's eyes, then Grissom's "Her path requires more work and endurance than others would imagine."

"Is uh," Sara swallowed, "Is that so?" 

"Indeed. This," he pointed to another, "Is your line of Success. Others might call it your work line." His glanced turned again, to Grissom. "Do you see the cross hatches there? Her life is quite tied to her work, I would imagine." 

Grissom glanced at Sara then, giving her a little smile as her eyes met his. "That's very interesting. Now, about our case?" 

"Not quite. Do you see this line?" His finger traced a spot near her fingers, "Just there? See?" He gestured to Grissom's fingers, "It's very deep. Can you feel it?" 

Grissom sighed, then lifted one finger to trace over Sara's palm. His breath caught for a moment, he studiously avoided Sara's gaze. "Yes. It's…ah…very deep."

"That's her love line." He grinned as the pair of investigators blinked simultaneously. "Your love line, Miss Sidle, is in a very slow process of change. You are becoming stronger at making wise decisions, and your romantic life will improve. Soon." He removed his own hands, watching as Grissom and Sara slowly disentangled theirs.

"Now then," he grinned, "You were asking about Mr. Simmons? He came in Thursday. Wanted to know about his Fate line. He was most curious about it. He wanted to know how it would effect his immediate future. He seemed most interested in that." Paulo sighed, "He had none."

Sara recovered from the palm-reading first. "No future?" 

"No Fate line." 

"And what did that mean?" 

Paulo shrugged, "Usually it means someone who is very unsettled. No roots. No wings. Just…aimless. It upset him. He rushed out of here quite quickly. That was the last I saw of him."

Grissom stood, "Did he explain why he wanted this information?"

"No. He just…asked. He was…nervous. Restless. Came and went quickly. Look, as I said we don't have any way of measuring the length of life. I couldn't tell him he was about to be killed." 

Sara stood then, too. "Thank you for your time. And the ah…reading." She handed him her card, "If you think of anything else, please call." She turned then, and yanked the curtains open, stepping back out into the crowd. 

Grissom followed a moment later, "Sara…" 

She turned with a wide grin plastered on her face, "Well, that confirms that our Vic was afraid of something." Unconsciously, she stroked the hand that had just been read. "Running from someone, maybe?"

"Sara…" 

"Grissom," she interrupted, sliding her hand into her pocket, "It's almost time for that Metaphysics lecture. We need to find Mr. Summers." She turned then, and headed for the Conference rooms, leaving Grissom to chase after her, again. 


	7. Aliens and Answers

****

A/N Thanks to all who are still with me. Disclaimers are still in the first chapter. 

Chapter 7: Aliens and Answers

Nick had never had allergies in his life; he always thought growing up in Texas among some of the tallest and biggest weeds in the world, not to mention the livestock, left him immune to pollens and dander. But as he fought to keep from sneezing in Christanson's hotel room, he began to wonder if he had developed an allergy to sloth. Vega seemed to be faring much better, standing in one of the only clear spots on the floor, notepad out, questioning the witness. 

It gave Nick a chance to wander around, his toe gingerly pushing a pizza box out of the way, as he took a step toward the dresser. If the room's occupant minded his snooping, he certainly didn't say anything. With this much debris lying around, if Nick found anything, it might really be stretching the 'in plain sight' rule. If they liked Christanson for the murder, they might need a warrant just to pick up the garbage. His eyes scanned the dresser, trying to peer under…day-old tighty whities. Nick suppressed a shudder and turned instead toward the table in the corner. The remains of more meals littered it, spilling over to the two brightly designed chairs beside it. 

"I thought the Con had only been in town three days?" He turned, eying the Alien Abduction lecturer casually. "Been entertaining a lot?" 

Maxwell looked up from Vega and shrugged. "Lot of girls come alone to these things. Men in their life don't understand, you know?" 

Nick really didn't. From the look on his face as he scanned the room, neither did Vega. The thought of Maxwell Christanson's grimy hotel room as a love nest boggled the mind. However, it wasn't necessarily part of this case. Vega cleared this throat, "I'm sorry Mr. Christanson, if we can get back to Clarence Simons?"

"Told you, don't know that name. Don't think he was an abductee. I know all the abductees attending the convention." 

"Are there….many?" 

Christanson lowered his voice, "More than you might believe. I'd bet that the two of you know at least one person who have been taken to one of their ships. Maybe even more. But Clarence Simons? Not one of them." 

Nick glanced at Vega from behind Maxwell's back, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. The detective's face remained neutral. "Well, we know he was registered for your lecture, late yesterday afternoon. We do need to know if he attended." 

"Officer Vegas, was it? You know, that's an interesting coincidence. Your name. This being Vegas." Christanson turned to eye Nick for a moment, picking up the pizza box the criminalist's eye had been on and tossing it on the bed, revealing a couple of coffee stained books. "My own. Have you read them?" 

"Ah. No sir, I haven't." 

"Pity, they're quite good." He watched Nick for another moment before turning back to Vega, wiping his hands on his once-white tee shirt. "Where were we?" 

"Mr. Simons?" 

"No. Coincidences. Right. No such thing. Probably very important to your life, your name being Vegas, and living here. You should look into that." 

"My name is Vega, sir. Not Vegas. Now if you'll just take a look at this picture, and tell us if Mr. Simons was in your lecture yesterday?" Vega slipped an eight by ten glossy of their victim's morgue shot out of a folder and handed it to Christanson. 

"Really?" The man furrowed his brow as he took the photo, "I could have sworn you said Vegas….God! This man is dead!" 

"That's what we've been trying to discuss with you, sir," Nick's voice was tight from his spot behind the man. "Have you seen him before?" 

"Well certainly not dead!" Shaking his head, he glanced back down at the picture. "Yes. I…I think he was there. Left early. Really a pity, I had just been getting to the good information."

"Any idea why he might have left early?" Nick thought staying the whole lecture with this guy would probably be odder than leaving early. 

"Well. Possibly." Christanson's eyes slipped to the floor as he spoke, for the first time not meeting either Vega or Nick's gaze. "It might have been when another of the presenters came in." 

"Which one?" 

"Well now. I don't know." Christanson shrugged, "Sorry I can't be of more help." 

Nick glanced up sharply, "If you don't know his name, then how do you know he was a presenter?" 

Christanson shrugged, "Silver ribbon. We all have them attached to our badges. Your Mr. Simons left just as he entered. Funny though." 

Nick pressed his fingers into his forehead as he waited for the man to continue. When it became clear that he wasn't going to, Nick sighed. "Sir?" What's funny?" 

"Oh. That the pretty girl that came in with him didn't leave with him." 

Vega's brows came up at that. "He was with someone? Why didn't you tell us that before?" 

Christanson shrugged, "Just thought of it." He looked from Vega to Nick, holding his hands in front of him. "Look. I just remembered the girl. Well, no, not the girl. But that she came in with…him." He glanced at the photo again, handing it back to Vega. 

"Did she leave with the other presenter?" 

"No. No, she waited till everyone else had gone, before she left. That's why I noticed her…her name. I thought she might be waiting to speak with me." He gave a shrug, "She wasn't." 

Nick glanced to the ceiling again, taking a long breath. "Sir? Her name?" 

"Oh. Baxter. Margaret Baxter. It was on her badge."

Vega grinned at Nick as they left the hotel room. "Margaret Baxter. I'll check with the hotel, see if she's registered. If she is, get her room number." He glanced at the folder in the younger man's hands. "Who's next on our agenda?" 

"Cindy Sampson." Nick rifled through the papers until he came to the Con's schedule. "Simons was scheduled for 'Haunted Places in America'. At six PM." He glanced up, "Doc Robbins put time of death around eleven. Still, Sampson's the last on his schedule." He flips the schedule over, giving Vega a little grin, "And, as it happens…she's due to speak shortly. Ghost Hunting 101."

"Coincidentally?" Vega grinned as he led the way to the elevators, "Listen. I'll go check with the front desk about Ms. Baxter; you speak with Cindy Sampson and see if she noticed anything odd about Simons in her talk." 

Either they had been in Christanson's room long enough that the rush was past, or by some twist of the space-time continuum the wait for the elevators going down was much shorter than that going up. Whatever the reason, Nick walked into the Nile A conference room. Several people were already milling about, taking their seats as Nick strode to the front of the room where several people were fussing with various pieces of equipment. "Ms. Sampson?"

"Yes?" A woman looked up from a laptop, hesitant smile on her face. "We'll begin in about ten minutes sir…"

After Christanson, Nick felt prepared for anything. Ms. Sampson, however, surprised him. She was dressed in jeans and a baseball jersey. Her hair was styled neatly in a ponytail, her eyes only partially obscured by black rimmed glasses. She was so…normal. For a moment, Nick glanced around. "You're the Ms. Sampson that taught Haunted Places in America?"

She grinned, "Well taught isn't exactly the word I'd use. But I did try to lead the discussion. If this is about missing it, I'd be glad to go over some of my notes with you after this session." 

"No. Ah. It's not about me missing it. I'm Nick Stokes. With the Las Vegas crime lab. "Could I have a moment of your time?" He gestured to the back corner of the room. 

"Crime lab?" Lifting her brows in question, she glanced over her shoulder, "Terry. See if you can get Power Point working, will you?" She followed Nick to the corner, brows raised. "What does the crime lab want with me?"

"Well Ma'am. It's about a Clarence Simons. Do you recognize the name?" At Cindy's headshake, he pulled out the photo. "The face?" 

She looked up sharply at Nick as she realized it was a picture from the morgue. Swallowing she let her eyes fall back to the face in the shot, "No. No I don't."

"He was registered for your lecture last night." 

"Uhm…Mr. Stokes. This…this isn't like a work related convention. People don't have to go to the sessions they sign up for. It's…" She took a deep breath, her eyes going anywhere but on the photo, "The registrations are just to give us an idea how big a room we need. I'm sorry, I can't help you." 

Nick's pager sounded then, and he glanced at the message as he tucked the photo back into the folder. "Just one more question, Ms. Sampson. Does the name Margaret Baxter mean anything to you?"

Still staring wide-eyed at him, she shook her head slowly. 

"Well then, thank you for your time." He gave her a smile as he turned and left the room in search of Vega. 

Vega was waiting for him on the attractions level, near the entrance to La Salsa. "Margaret Baxter is inside. The Concierge remembered recommending this restaurant just before I questioned him. Says she's wearing one of Luxor's souvenir shirts. Turn up anything with Sampson?" 

As the pair scanned the diners, Nick shook his head. "No. She says she didn't see our Vic at her lecture last night." Shrugging, he nodded to a table in the corner, "Seemed sincere enough, but you never know. Is that her?" 

Vega nodded, "Fits the description. Red hair, shirt. Flowered bag. Let's go." 

Margaret Baxter was picking at a salad when Nick and Vega walked up. "Ms. Baxter? I'm Nick Stokes with the crime lab, this is Detective Vega. Can we ask you a few questions?" 

The woman looked up, her fork clattering to the table. "Oh God. This is about Clarence, isn't it?"

Vega nodded, taking the seat across from her. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Simons?" 

""What…what's happened to him? Where is he?" Her voice rose as the questions fell from her lips. "I…I knew something was wrong…he was supposed to meet me last night. We….what's happened to him?"

"Miss Baxter. I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Nick glanced at Vega who nodded. "Mr. Simons is dead." 

Her hand flew to her mouth as Nick spoke. She turned her gaze from one man to the other as tears filled her eyes. "I knew something was wrong," she whispered finally. "It was Summers. I know it." 

Nick patted her shoulder gently. "Excuse me? Summer?"

"No. Summers. Jacob Summers. I know he killed my Clarence." 


	8. Hovering

****

A/N Thank you to everyone who is still with me. I'm out of town next week with work, will try to post again next weekend, if I don't manage before Monday night. 

Chapter 8: Hovering

When Grissom caught up with Sara, she was pacing a circle into the carpeting outside the corridor leading to the conference rooms, cell phone to her ear. He stood back and watched her, his eyes lingering on her hands. Palmistry was not science, not even close. Nothing remotely provable about it. Still, he couldn't help thinking of Sara's reading. She had chosen the less traveled path. He winced as he remembered the rest of Paulo's words. That her life required more work and endurance than others could imagine. Did it? Watching her closely, he had to admit she seemed tired. And not just from her normal lack of sleep, there was something more there. Something almost painful to look at. When had that started? She looked thinner too, and Sara could scarcely afford to loose weight. How had he not noticed any of that? 

Sara snapped the phone closed and turned to him, blowing out a long breath as she shoved the phone back in the holster at her waist. He watched as her eyes tightened, a frown claiming her lips. "Sara…" 

"That was the lab. Still nothing on the prints in Simmons' house. Doc says the finger marks on his neck are most likely from a male. Large finger span. Trace identified the thread found near the body as silk. Silk…" She gestured back to the Vendor's floor, where half the booths they had passed were either draped in silk, had silk on their tables, or their proprietors. "Damn." 

"Sara." Grissom stepped closer to her, his hands remaining at his side, though he reached out to her with his voice. "We now know we're looking for a man. That's narrowed it down." 

"Right." Sara laughed mirthlessly, and then corrected him. "It most likely narrows it down. To what, sixty percent of the people here? Maybe more. Seems we've run into more men than women at this convention." 

"We'll find him." Grissom's eyes searched hers, his hand lifting for a moment toward her arm, but falling back to his side. "And when we do, we'll have the prints to match to him. And the trace from the lab. We'll get him Sara." 

She blew out another breath, letting her fingers unclench at her sides. "You're right. Sorry. You're right. Let's see if we can find this Mr. Summers." She glanced down at the schedule in her file, "We're looking for Egyptian A." 

The pair made their way to the conference room, the placard outside the door confirming that they were at the metaphysics lecture. They stepped inside the room, glancing at the gathering crowd. Grissom cleared his throat, "Excuse me. We're looking for Jacob Summers?" 

For several moments no one seemed to notice the question, the din in the room didn't change, people still spoke softly in small, compact groups. Those who weren't engrossed in conversation idly flipped through the conference brochure, or glanced through purchases made on the vendor's floor. The only indication the CSIs had that they had been heard, was the odd head that turned to glance in their direction. Grissom sighed, and lifted his voice, "Mr. Summers? We're told he would be in here." 

Sara watched as several of the head-turners glanced their way again, one or two of them let their gazes flicker to the front of the room, where a tall man in a gray sport coat stood talking to one of the conference techs, gesturing to a bank of microphones and a slide projector. He didn't lift his eyes toward them, even as her boss' voice rang out over the crowd. She nudged Grissom, tilting her head toward the man at the front of the room. Her lips parted in a small smile at the quirk of his brow, and almost as one, they turned and made their way around the chairs, to the table at the front. 

"Mr. Summers?" Grissom's voice was quiet, though Sara could hear the frustration growing in the tone. She shook her head as his voice dropped; a quiet Grissom was an angry Grissom. To bad the witness didn't know that. "You _are _Mr. Jacob Summers?"

The man straightened with a long sigh, pulling himself to his full height. As he rose, they could both see the name badge clearly proclaiming him as Jacob Summers. The silver ribbon dangling from the badge identified him as a speaker at the Con. He glanced at Grissom for a moment, before turning to Sara, letting his eyes linger on her.

"It would seem you are," Grissom nodded to the badge. "My name is Gil Grissom, this is Sara Sidle. We're with the Las Vegas crime lab. We need to ask you a few questions." 

Summers ignored Gil, focusing instead on Sara as he reached out for her hand. "Jacob Summers, at your service. Have we met, Miss Sidle?" 

"No sir, I don't think so. If you'd please come outside with us…" She paused, glancing at her hand, still enclosed in the psychic's. "It's…ah… quieter there…we'll be able to talk more easily." 

The man shook his head, still not releasing Sara's hand. "No. I'm very sure we've met someplace before." He smiled then, as Gil tensed beside Sara, "I think we _have_ met before, in a previous life. Perhaps?"

Sara sighed, pulling her hand firmly from his grasp. "I'm afraid this life is my first time around. Now, if we may?"

Summers' sigh echoed Sara's. "Of course it isn't, Miss Sidle. This can't be your first life. Not with an aura like yours." His eyes moved from hers, now narrowed in annoyance, to Grissom's, which were fairly glaring. "All right, very well. Let's step outside." He gestured to one of the men in the front of the crowd, "Harry. Take over for me, will you. I'll only be a moment." He turned to Sara, giving a low bow. "After you." 

"No sir," Grissom's hand found its way to Sara's back again, the other gesturing toward the door. "After you."

The corridor was much quieter, the afternoon sessions having pulled most of the people into the conference rooms. Grissom took the credit card receipt, sealed in its evidence bag, and presented it to Summers. "A Clarence Simmons purchased services from you yesterday afternoon, at five-thirty." 

"That's….not possible." Summers looked from Sara, to Grissom, and back again. "I don't know a Mr. Simmons. And I was…otherwise occupied at five-thirty yesterday."

"No sir." Grissom once again gestured to the receipt, "That's definite. The evidence tells us you were with him at that time. The receipt doesn't say what kind of…services…you provided. We'd like you to answer that question for us. As well as tell us what time you last saw him." 

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. Sometimes the other practitioners borrow my credit card reader. Not all of them have access to their own, you know." His eyes moved from Sara's to Grissom's, "I can check, if you like?"

Grissom's phone rang at that moment. He sighed as he pulled it to his ear, "Grissom…" 

"Griss I…" 

"Nick?" He pulled it from his ear, staring at the display. "Nick I'm barely getting a signal, hold on." He turned to Sara, his eyes catching hers for a long moment, "Be right back." 

He moved toward the lounge, just off the conference room corridor. Glancing at the signal again, he was relieved to see three bars. "All right Nick, go ahead." 

"Hey Griss. I've spoke to all the lecturers that our vic was supposed to hear. Last one he attended was at one, yesterday. He hightailed it out of that one when another of the conference presenters came in." Nick's voice tingled with excitement as he went on. "It did lead us to Simmons' girlfriend, Margaret Baxter. She says Simmons had been in an on-going dispute with one of the presenters. Something about a business outside the convention. It was him that Simmons ran from during the Alien lecture. She says this man has threatened the vic several times in the last few days…Griss? You there?"

"Yes Nick," Grissom glanced nervously toward the Egyptian corridor. "Who is this presenter, Nick?"

"Jacob Summers. She seems convinced he killed Clarence Simmons…" 

"Nick," cutting him off sharply, Grissom tightened his grip on the phone as he moved back the way he had come. "Get Vega down here to the conference level. Now. Egyptian rooms." He snapped his phone shut as he rounded the corner back to the meeting rooms. 

Sara and Jacob Summers were gone. 


	9. In Search Of

****

A/N: Closing in on the end. Same disclaimers apply.

Chapter 9: In Search of

"Sara?" Grissom jogged down the corridor, to where it joined the main lobby of the Luxor. His voice rose as he called out, "Sara?" God, where was she? He'd only been gone a short time, how could they have disappeared so quickly? For a moment, he was seized with a vision of Jacob Summers' hands around Sara's throat, squeezing the life out of her as he had done Clarence Simmons. The thought paralyzed him, and for a minute he just stood, staring into the lobby of the Luxor, his hand reaching out unsteadily to grasp the wall beside him. He blinked forcefully then tuned on his heel and raced back to the conference room where Summer's talk had been scheduled. He yanked open the door to "Time, Space, and Thought... Journeys in Metaphysics" so hard it banged against the wall as he stepped into the room. Heads turned in his direction, but Grissom couldn't find the only one that mattered. He turned, stepping back into the corridor, letting the door close behind him with as much force as he had opened it. 

He moved back toward the main hotel, knowing he would have seen them had the gone past the lounge toward the other conference rooms and the courtyard beyond. "Dammit Sara! Where the hell are you?" He purposely avoided the thought that they still didn't have the original crime scene; they still didn't know where Clarence Simmons had died. Dammit! She wouldn't leave the hotel, and Summers couldn't have subdued her in a crowd. But the scene could be somewhere here, in the Luxor. And Sara's voice haunted him "Easy enough to throw his arm around your shoulder and drag him in, as if you're helping a drunken friend home." Was that how Summers got Sara out? A quick blow to the head to slow her down, then dragging her out, explaining along the way that she just can't hold her liquor?

"Grissom? Nick said you needed me?" 

He whirled to face Vega, who stood watching him with an odd expression on his face. Grissom paused, and took a deep breath, forcing his voice to display only mild concern, tinged with annoyance. "Sara's gone." He gestured to the lounge where he had gone to speak with Nick. "She was here with Summers when I went in there to take Nick's call. When I came back, they were gone." 

Vega glanced down the hallway, "Did you try calling her?" He glanced at the phone on Grissom's waist. 

Grissom just stared for a moment, then turned and headed back to the lounge area. He didn't turn back to look at Vega as he pulled out his phone and found a spot with good reception. "Phone doesn't work back in that hall, "he explained as he hit the speed dial. As the call connected he jammed the phone to his ear, pacing circles in the carpeting, studiously avoiding Vega's eye as he waited for Sara to pick up. 

"Sidle…"

"Sara! Where the hell are you?" 

She didn't answer for a moment; when she did, her own voice was carefully controlled. "Vendor's area. Mr. Summers marched off here when you took your call. Wants to check his credit-card reader."

His jaw clenched as he answered her. "I told you I'd be right back. You didn't wait for me." 

"Grissom….It took us two hours to find him…"

"Never mind! Wait there. Vega and I are on the way. I mean it Sara!" 

He could hear her sigh on the other end of the phone. "Fine. We'll be here." She disconnected before he could move the phone from his ear. 

Vega jogged to keep up with Grissom as the crime lab supervisor strode into the vendor's room. Despite the difficulty he and Sara had in navigating the expansive space earlier in the day, he made his way through the maze straight to Summers' booth. Much like the palmist's stall had been, Jacob Summers small area was surrounded on four sides by silk draperies. Grissom yanked open the curtains, revealing Sara kneeling on the floor, lightly dusting printing powder over a small oak credenza. Grissom let out a long breath, his jaw working furiously, his eyes not leaving the younger CSI. 

It was Vega who finally spoke, "Got a warrant, Sara?"

Summers sat in one of the two high-back chairs, His eyes moving to where the makeshift door had been flung open. "She doesn't need one. I am cooperating fully with this investigation Mr. Grissom, and…?"

"Vega." The policeman reached a hand out to Summers, "Detective Vega." 

Sara stood then, handing a large evidence bag to Grissom, "Summers' credit card reader. We'll need to get it back to the lab to process. I've got a partial from the table the reader was on." She paused, glancing up at her boss, "A sample from the curtains and chairs. Anything else?"

"Ah." Grissom's voice felt tight, even to him. "No, Sara. Let's get this all back to the lab. Vega?"

"Right. Mr. Summers? Would you mind coming back, answer a few more questions for us?"

*~*

Jacob Summers waited in the large interrogation room while Grissom and Sara processed the evidence found in his stall. He had been seemingly forthcoming during his interrogation, though Grissom had never warmed to him. He glanced over the lens of the comparison microscope at Sara as she printed the credit card reader, his eyes scanning her profile as she bent over the small machine. The psychic had continued to try to flatter Sara throughout the interrogation, commenting several times on her 'aura' and how it intrigued him. Though she remained cool and focused, it bothered Grissom. He told himself it was because their main suspect was trying to deflect their suspicions through compliments, however paranormal in origin.

"What was all that about, back there?" She surprised him by speaking without even looking up from her work. He hadn't realized she was aware of his scrutiny. 

"Excuse me?"

"Sara," she matched his intonation on the phone perfectly, "Where the hell are you?" Her eyes lifted to meet his then, if only briefly. "What was that all about, Grissom?"

"You weren't where I left you." 

"So?" She shrugged as she lifted a print, closing the tape before she looked back at him again. "I was just a call away." 

"Nick," he paused, clearing his throat, "Nick indicated Summers was a strong suspect. You were just…"

"You were worried?" Her eyes jumped to his again, widened slightly as she took in the information. "About me?"

For a moment, Grissom could only stare at her, shocked that she seemed so surprised. "Yes!" He glanced back at the microscope, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his tone was completely normal. "The fibers from Summers' stall don't match those found in the victim. What do you have?"

Sara blinked, letting a smile flicker over her face for a second. Then she glanced down, lifting the tape-print. "Good thumb print on the machine. We can have Jaqui run it against Summers. And it was used at 5:30 PM yesterday. We can check his alibi for that time."

Grissom nodded, "I'll ask Vega to check on it as soon as he's back from searching Summers' house." 

"He's back." Both Grissom and Sara jumped at the sound of Nick's voice as the man stepped into the evidence room. "We got nothing." 

Sara nodded as Grissom let out a small sigh. "All right. We'll have Vega start checking Summers' alibi. In the meantime, Nick, I think it's time you talked to your witness again." 

*~*

"Miss Baxter…"

"Maggie." 

Nick Stokes smiled at the red haired woman seated across from him in the smaller of the interrogation rooms. "Can you tell me more about Mr. Summers, and why he might want to hurt Clarence?"

"Kill him. He wanted to kill him. Clarence," she smiled, "He was writing a book, debunking psychic phenomenon. He worked for Mr. Summers. He was going to expose him as a charlatan." 

"I see. And Mr. Summers didn't want this book written?"

"No!" Maggie crossed her legs, wringing her large hands in her lap, "He would have lost a great deal of money, you see. He makes a fortune from…." She paused, flashing Nick a smile, "Well, telling fortunes. Clarence was going to put a stop to it, he was. And Jacob Summers…he couldn't stand the idea of loosing his income."

Nick nodded, watching the young woman. Greed was one of the biggest motives for murder, right behind betrayal and jealousy, in his experience. A man about to loose everything was a man desperate enough to kill. And when the person about to take everything was someone he had known, trusted to work for him. Strangulation was a personal crime, and betrayal was ultimately personal. 

"Maggie? Had Clarence written any other books?"

"Oh no, this was his first. We'd been going to places like this for a year though. Research, she said." She smiled again, "He did the research. I just went to be with him." 

"I see. We appreciate the help you've given us Maggie. We'll need you to stay here for a while; we may have to have your help in a line up. Can you do that?"

"Of course, anything to help my Clarence." 

*~*

"That doesn't make sense." Sara stood in the observation room, glancing at Grissom over her shoulder as he talked in hushed tones to Nick. The Texan had come in from the hallway door, Maggie Baxter remained seated in the small room. Sara's eyes moved from the men, to the woman seated at the metal table, her crossed legs bouncing nervously against the chair. 

Nick looked her way, "Why not Sara?" Grissom, too, turned to watch her, his face expressionless. He nodded for her to answer Nick's question. 

"First. We can find no evidence that Clarence Simons knew Jacob Summers." She was about to go on when Nick cut her off. 

"Christanson saw him leave his seminar abruptly when Summers came in." 

"No." Sara shook her head slowly, "Christanson saw him leave when someone wearing a presenter's ribbon came in. We don't know that it was Summers. Or even that the person entering was a trigger to Simons' leaving." She glanced at Grissom who was watching her intently, and Nick, who was frowning. 

"Come on Sar…" 

"And," she continued, "You and Vega searched Summers' home yourself, you found nothing. I didn't find anything at his booth at the convention." 

"Yes, but he might have evidence hidden somewhere else. Suspects so eager to help often believe they're throwing you off the trail, think their guilt is too well hidden." 

Sara nodded, once again meeting Grissom's eyes. "But I just don't buy that he was trying to debunk psychic phenomena. It doesn't mesh with what Grissom and I found out from the other vendors."

"Which was?"

It was Grissom who answered this time, "That he was a believer. He was purchasing items of protection. He was nervous about something, they all agreed to that. If he was really writing a book trying to discredit the occult, simply buying a few items just to show they didn't work certainly wouldn't be statistically valid." 

"Besides," Sara added, with a quick smile to Grissom, "For every book you can show me on the occult, I can show you another that tried to expose it. I just don't see one more book as obvious motive."

Nick sighed, "I'll check with Vega, see how he's coming with checking out Summers' alibi." 

Grissom nodded and moved to stand beside Sara, whose eyes had returned to Maggie Baxter in the interrogation room. She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke. "And here I got the impression you don't like Summers, much." 

"I don't." His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, "But we don't crunch evidence to fit a theory. Even if we don't like the suspect. Besides," he turned to look at her profile again, "He did say something that made sense." 

"Which was?"

Grissom's mouth twitched in a lopsided grin, "I _have_ never seen an aura like yours."


	10. Glimpsing the Future

****

A/N This is the end, folks. Thank you all who are still reading. This was my first multi-part fic; I do hope it was all right. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, they made my day. 

I apologize in advance for the gratuitous use of a half-naked Warrick. That was for my friend Robin, who listened to all my talk about this fic. It was her only request. 

Chapter 10: Glimpsing the Future

"So, Jacob Summers alibi is solid?" Nick turned to watch Vega going over his notes, his fingers once again pressing against the bridge of his nose. "You're sure?" 

"Yeah Nick. He was playing poker with three other presenters at the conference. All three, and the room service staff can account for his whereabouts from five to eleven the night of the murder." 

"Poker?"

Vega looked up now, "Yeah, poker, why?"

Nick gave a small shrug, "I don't know. I just thought these guys would be the type to go for séances, that's all." At Vega's raised brow Nick just chuckled, "All right, I'll go tell Grissom." 

He checked the break room first, knowing Greg had just brewed a pot of his Blue Hawaiian, but none of the night shift was there. Nick didn't have to be a CSI III to know that none of the others could have heard about Greg's donation yet. He paused to pour himself a large mugful of the bitter brew, shaking two ibuprofen out of the bottle on the shelf above the pot. Sipping on the cup, and hoping the caffeine would make the pain medicine work more quickly, he popped his head into Grissom's office. 

When he didn't find his boss there, he headed to labs, stopping by the locker room just in case. Not that either Grissom or Sara was likely to be leaving, just having worked a double or not, with the case so close to blowing open like this. Still, it was on the way. 

"Hey. Man. Greg just made coffee, where you been?" 

Warrick stood shirtless in front of his locker, the shredded remains of his former piece of clothing tucked into an evidence bag. "Dog fighting ring," he shrugged, "Used my shirt to distract a Pit bull so the guys from animal control could get him chained up." 

"You all right, Man?" 

Grinning, Warrick shrugged into his clean shirt, "Yeah fine. It didn't get close to me. How's your case coming along?" 

"Not great. Best suspect has an airtight alibi. You seen Griss or Sara?" 

"Too bad about that. I just saw them." Shutting his locker, the black man nodded his head toward the labs, "With Jaqui. Just passed them heading that way." 

As Nick neared the print lab, he saw Grissom and Sara standing close together, near one of the computers. When the machine blinked, the pair reached as one for the printout, Grissom's hand getting there just a moment before Sara's. They both bent over the results then straightened together, sharing a long, slow grin. Nick cleared his throat as he entered, hanging back in the door feeling almost like a gatecrasher about to be nailed for trespassing. "Guys?" 

Both Grissom and Sara turned slowly to face Nick, Grissom's mouth set in a smirk, Sara's eyes sparkling. It was Sara that spoke, "What did Vega have for us Nick?" 

He looked from one to another then sighed, knowing by their looks that their evidence had likely already made his moot. "Summers has a perfect alibi. Three other presenters and room service staff can place him in a room at the Luxor both when his credit card reader was used, and at the time of the murder." He grinned then, glancing at their paper, "Why? What do you have?"

"Maggie Baxter," Sara answered, with a smirk that now matched Grissom's. "Her prints were on Summer's card reader. She has a record for shoplifting, and fraud."

"She does?"

"Oh yeah." Sara grinned at Grissom, "I think it's time we had another chat with Ms. Baxter, don't you?"

"I do." Grissom nodded in the direction of the door, "After you."

*~*

Nick glanced at the little card in his hand as he left the Luxor for the fourth time in two days. For the first time in as long, his head was clear and the tension throbbing between his eyes was gone. A little grin slid into place as he looked at Laurie Robinson's card again. Nick still didn't believe in all this paranormal crap, but he knew one thing, Laurie _did _have magic fingers. His grin widened as he noted the local address on the business card. He tucked it into his wallet, smiling to himself as he left the convention area. 

The smile turned into a frown as he spotted his boss among the throng leaving the vendor's room. "Grissom? Hey! Grissom, wait up." 

He jogged up to the older man, frown still etching his features, "What's wrong Gris? Sara told me Maggie Baxter confessed? Didn't Vega pick up her partner already? Something go wrong?" Nick could almost feel the fingers of tension grabbing his skull again as he looked to his supervisor for an answer. 

Grissom for his part looked past Nick with a long sigh. "No. No everything's fine. Vega picked up an Arthur Bell early this afternoon. Your witness, Christanson, identified him as the man who seemed to scare our vic into leaving his lecture. Bell and Baxter are falling all over themselves to implicate the other."

Nick, whose headache had sent him home shortly after the interrogation of Maggie Baxter began, nodded. "So, what was it? Love affair gone bad?" 

Grissom tucked a small bag under his arm as he turned toward the door, "Nope. Seems they were defrauding the conventioneers with phony psychic readings. Maggie Baxter was Bell's accomplice, she got to know the marks before the group readings, slipped information to Bell who then awed the group of people with his personal knowledge about them. He then offered private readings for exorbitant sums. Clarence Simmons discovered the scam, and planned on exposing it to everyone here. Including several people bilked out of thousands of dollars." 

"Damn." Nick had to jog to keep up with his boss. "That would have made them unpopular." 

"To say the least." 

"So…why are you here?" He glanced suspiciously at the bag under Grissom's arm. "Were we missing evidence or something?"

Grissom paused then, looking over at Nick, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. "No. Didn't you leave early with a headache?"

"Ah. Yeah. And ah….you know, Griss, I should be going. I'll see you tonight." 

Grissom nodded, "You do that Nick." When the younger man turned his back and all but fled the hotel, Gris allowed himself a small grin. Then, patting the white bag under his arm, he followed the younger man to the parking lot.

*~*

Though she was tired from the double shift, Sara hadn't yet made it to bed when the knock sounded on her door. She untangled her legs from the afghan and stretched, leaving the entomology book she was leafing through face down on her couch. The knock was sounding again as she reached the door. "Hang on! I'm coming!" 

She ran a hand through her hair as she pulled open the door, her brow furrowing as she saw the man standing there. "Grissom?"

His eyes followed her hand as she mussed her hair, a quick intake a breath the only sound he made. He let his gaze return to her hair then drop down to her face; tousled and disheveled, with sleep tugging at her eyes she was still the most stunning woman he knew. A little smile tugged at his mouth as he watched her watch him. 

"Grissom!" Sara sighed, rolling her eyes, and then stepped away from the door. "It's late. If you're going to stand and gape, at least do it inside." 

Gil blinked then, and took the step over her threshold. "I….I ah…" He watched as she closed the door behind him, and then stood, arms crossed over her chest to watch him warily. "I've been thinking." 

One brow arching over a brown eye was the only movement in her otherwise still frame. "About?" 

"Wandering." 

"Wandering?" She sighed again, shaking her head slowly. "Look, Gris. It's late. I'm tired. If you have a point, I really wish you'd get to it."

"Sara…." This time it was Grissom who sighed, letting his eyes fall to the carpet of her apartment. "Listen. I…I wanted to tell you…that…I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?" This was new. Dropping her arms to her side, Sara sucked her lower lip into her mouth for a moment, "About?"

"Frustrating you with my….wandering." He looked up then, and met her eyes. "Hurting you. Look Sara, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been…easy…to be around. I was…" 

"Wandering?" At his nod she sighed, "Did you find it?" When he frowned in confusion, she went on. "You said back at the convention that wandering was good. Because sometimes, you find something you didn't know you needed, until you find it. Did you?"

"You really do tape everything I say." 

Sara smiled, but wasn't going to be sidetracked. "Did you find it?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so." He handed her the white package then, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it from him. "I…this reminds me of you." 

She opened the package hesitantly, pulling out a silver amulet on an ornate chain. "A triquetra? How does this….remind you of me?" Her fingers traced the three-fold design as she glanced up at him through a veil of hair. "Maiden, mother, and crone?"

Grissom smiled, reaching a finger out to trace the design himself, his smile widening as their fingers met. "No. Not that trinity." His eyes met hers then, and he shrugged, "Maybe I should have said it reminds me of us. Our relationship. At least…I hope?"

"Our relationship? " Understanding dawned in Sara's eyes and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Another trinity then? Life? Death…"

Grissom's hand folded over hers as he nodded. "Right. Life. Death. And Rebirth."

Fin


End file.
